


Untested Waters

by TLvop



Category: Dalemark Quartet - Diana Wynne Jones
Genre: Backstory, Canon Disabled Character, Family, Gen, Past Tense, Pre-Canon, divided loyalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TLvop/pseuds/TLvop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>All I have is my honor.</i></p><p>The life of Kars before he is Adon, in the years directly preceding <i>Spellcoats</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untested Waters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lferion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lferion/gifts).



The morning wind brought the smell of salt brine, and it startled Kars Adonsson with its potency. There'd been the faint hint of salt on the air for days, as he travelled, but nothing with such strength – he'd forgotten how near the port it permeated hair and skin and clothes even for those who did not take to sea.

He looked to his right and smiled at his uncle's man, Egill, who was escorting him with their caravan to the home he'd left eight years before to learn under his uncle. Egill's eyes were shadowed as they always were, as if he never slept well, but they wrinkled in response.

"If we keep moving," he said, his voice quiet but carrying over the horses, "we shall arrive just after nightfall."

"Yes," Kars agreed. He knew the messenger who'd been sent ahead the previous day would be having the welcoming feast prepared. But he was Kiniren Adon's son, not the chieftain of a subservient clan, or the king of a neighboring land. The feast was merely a formality to welcome him back home – and he missed home, though he hadn't been there since he was seven— with its fuzzy memories of his now-gone mother at the loom and fellow clans children (now, ah, adults or almost themselves – the idea was unnerving) racing around, and his adult brother Bass. When Bass had come to their uncle's to confer when Kars was ten, he'd been so startled to see his brother without a cane that he'd burst into the laughter Kars remembered best about him. "Little-old-man," now only barely fit for a nickname; Bass'd still used it when he visited two years later, though he promised he'd think of a more fitting one soon.

He missed his father as well, though even as a child Kars's best memory of him came from the stories the poets would tell of his youth – where they spoke of how the Bright One had gifted him speed in battle and deadly certainty to supplement the wisdom the Grand Father gifted to good kings.

Kars breathed in a deep lungful of the strong air, and sighed.

\--

Their arrival didn't go unnoticed in the early dark; Egill gave instructions for the care of the horses, luggage, and slaves to the bondsmen who came to take them as Kars waited by his side. He felt the prickling on the back of his neck from the eyes of the people watching, and pulled his back upwards, discreetly straightening his leg.

"Visitors, at this time?" asked a voice from his right, and Kars turned his head, feeling Egill's shifting start and suddenly stop as he saw what Kars did – the spellcoat. Kars closed his eyes, respectfully, opening them back to focus solely on the man's face so he did not read beyond a brief glimpse of _set night aflame_.

"Not a visitor, but one returning home, your honor," he said quietly. "Kars, of Rath Clan." It was a brief naming, but it would be rude to imply the mage could not know from that his identity – and he had a feeling the mage had known it before speaking to him. He did not know why he had been waylaid, but he knew better than to try unraveling the intentions of a mage. His uncle spoke of them but rarely, with caution. His father trusted them more, but trust was not stupidity.

The mage tilted his head in neutral acknowledgment. He didn't speak his name; his identity had been given up to the college of mages with his life. "Welcome home," he said. "Your father will be glad to see you, I'm certain, once he has finished his meeting with Kankredin."

Kars was startled by both the welcome and the information, but he nodded hastily, and they soon parted ways. It wasn't until they were close to the Adon's buildings, pace slow because Kars'd refused the cane he used sometimes in private, that Egill's silence grew heavy on Kars. He glanced over and tried "Odd that he should be interested," with a half-smile, even though the strangeness itched between his shoulder blades.

"Well," Egill replied after a moment, "he's a mage. They're interested in everything."

That made Kars relax; of course, it made perfect sense. But Egill's frown stayed.

\--

"We've fallen out of contact with them, though, haven't we?" Kars was staring over the map of the land across the sea where the western clans had gone. He rested his forearms on the table, as his brother paced. Bass had spent the last two weeks promising to inform him of what was going on, of how he could help, but hadn't managed to find space in his meetings with traders and clan leaders until earlier this afternoon.

Bass stopped, and leaned over the map, finger tracing the edge of the coastline. "Yes, but Krankredin says they are still here, in the north. He's seen the western clans, and says they've prospered this last century." Bass cleared his throat, standing. "The Natives do not live on the coast lines; they live inland, along a large river."

Kars thought of the steep cliffs and strong current of the river that ran not two days from his Uncle's home, and tried to suppress a shudder. Bass rubbed a hand across his eyes, and Kars hurried to speak before his brother grew discontent with his silence. "Still, the western clans and Natives will not care for us sharing their crop-land," he said, uncertain. He did not think it was a bad idea to go – the relief of more farming space since the Western clans left with Kankredin's aid had not lasted, and the soil could not maintain them all. Some of the traders from the south spoke of plagues that had swept their close-packed cities, and Kars worried it would happen in his home as well. Still, the boats being built were designed to carry more farmers than warriors, and there was not so much peace that a large protective delegation could be spared.

"It's a green land," Bass replied, dismissively, and changed the topic to speak of imports and exports, pulling out lists and explaining the things Kars could learn to aid him with while their father planned and Bass finished his own duties.

Kars knew the most stressful duty for Bass, right now, was inspecting the delegation Kankredin wanted to send back with Egill. The mages wanted to meet with his uncle, but everyone knew his uncle did not like mages well, and that mages were rarely prone to diplomacy. Bass was trying to head off any disasters. Kars knew he would have no trouble from Egill – he did not like mages, either, but he was very good at politics.

\--

The first year of settling into his new role went quicker than Kars expected, talking to traders, meeting with the heads of clans when they had something to discuss that wasn't important enough to approach his father or brother about.

His father was very good at making feast times feel as if their larder wasn't showing the same strain as everyone else's, and he freely gave gifts brought or won from places across the sea. Warriors would come back with treasure, and he'd speak to them with the easy confidence of an old soldier himself. Kars admired that, wished he could imitate it – but Bass was their father's son in that regard, and it wasn't only due to the fifteen years he had on Kars. Kars's mother had been healthy, but small, and quiet – his father hadn't married her to have an heir, though he'd been glad when Kars was born.

Still, despite the openness between king and the southern chieftains, there was a feeling of tension. His younger cousins were leaving, called back home by his uncle who'd said he had need of their aid – they were only twelve and nine, and Vakre had older sons at home, though he'd lost one in the war. Yet – his father didn't seem worried, and Bass told him not to worry, so – well, likely his uncle did need them. While his father had become increasingly involved in trade and foreign relations and approaching the end of the emigration planning, Vakre was taking control of much of the agriculture; Vakre's sons could run errands and learn how to portion farmland to families.

Kars'd missed his uncle sorely this past year, and Egill, and some others – for people to talk to whose words and thoughts made sense inside his head. Here he felt awkward, his father loud and cheerful, discussing how glad he would be were _he_ but able to explore the new land, his brother seemingly the friend of every chieftain and warrior. It was not that different from his uncle's court, but at least there he knew what the half-spoken words referred to, and the reasons why two enemies might act like friends.

Yet— he was learning the positions of the clan leaders, and their families. He was becoming more comfortable with not knowing the currents at the feasts, though he hoped – soon – he would be able to understand them.

\--

Nearly a year later, Kars heard his uncle had unexpectedly arrived with a delegation while he was in the city. He finished his business quickly, and left on the long walk back to the king's quarters. Arin, a retired soldier of Rath Clan under his father who worked now for the palace guard, gave him a questioning glance as he kept pace, and Kars thought a moment. "If you would go and… inform yourself," he paused, uncertain of how to phrase it as Arin was his equal in rank and his elder, only looking after him for his father's sake – but he had much sturdier legs and no ties to Vakre. "I would appreciate knowing the cause of my uncle's visit before I meet with him."

Arin nodded. "It seems wisest," he said, and slipped off through the crowd.

Kars pinched the bridge of his nose. He could not think of what Vakre might be planning, but this move said to him _take caution, there are currents here you cannot navigate_. He disliked that feeling, so he reminded himself of his uncle's kindness, and forced himself to relax.

The courtyard was unnaturally quiet. A slave was sitting on the edge of the closed well as he drew near; her head shot up and she stiffened, then relaxed. He recognized her as part of his brother's household, but he knew her worry didn't come from the stain smeared on her hand and across her sleeve.

"What worries you?" he asked, stopping across from her on his way to the main door.

She was quiet a moment, lips pressed tight, dropping her eyes respectfully. "Safety breaks, when the powerful clash," she quoted, and blinked quickly. "I worry for the future, Adonsson."

Kars realized that what was smeared on her hand was drying blood, and his throat dried. He swallowed hard against it. "Lord Vakre is an honorable man," he said, the words feeling dull in his mouth. "If the worst comes, it shouldn't touch you."

She didn't reply except to glance back up at him, and Kars turned back to the entrance, moving faster even though it meant dragging his leg where someone could see.

Inside the first door, he was stopped by a guard's hand in front of his chest. As he halted, the guard said "Ado—Kinirensson," and stopped. Kars recognized him as one of his uncle's men, under Egill – who was not in the room. One of the guards went into the building, presumably to find him.

"What's happened, Unr?" he asked, standing as straight as he could.

Unr shifted. "The land needs a king that looks to it," he said after a moment. Kars felt a dull roaring in his ears, before Unr clarified: "Kiniren is safe."

Kars breathed out, but Unr dropped his eyes. He glanced to the side, and saw the rest of the guards standing similarly: not worried he might attack, but still worried. He swallowed, again.

"And my brother," he asked flatly, staring at the door.

The door opened on his uncle's man bringing Egill back, and they stared at each other for a long moment. Egill looked more tired than he ever had. "Kars," he said, inclining his head slightly in acknowledgment.

"Where's Bass?"

Egill's lips thinned, and he tilted his head back into the hallway. Two of the guards accompanied him out, though Egill had them wait by the door. There were some smears of blood on the floor, but no bodies. "Some of your father's guards were lost," Egill explained. He looked pained at having to explain. "As was Bass."

Kars hadn't thought he was going to be surprised to hear it, but he was. It was like a clanging in his ears. Bass was like the Bright One – tireless, strong, and a fact of existence. He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. He just stared at Egill, feeling useless.

Egill filled the silence eventually, as he tended to whenever someone went quiet too long in a conversation. Kars wasn't used to being that person. "The mages will not fight, as they wish to leave— and your father wishes to go with them. Vakre Adon has given him the time to do so, with his followers," Egill said carefully. "Bass was strong, experienced, and people followed him. The Adon asked for proof of his sincerity."

A proof of sincerity from his brother, but not his father – Kars was confused, before it clarified cold in his mind. His father had wanted to go to the new land – it was how he talked the heads of clans into agreeing the idea was good. But, Bass… Bass was young enough to bring an army back, and hot-headed enough to do it.

He squeezed his teeth together. Anyone could see Bass would not have given it – he was at heart a warrior, even if the relative peace of the port meant he had not had the chance of many wars to test himself against. A warrior was useless with his hands cut off.

"The Adon," Egill hesitated, "he requests that you would consider aiding him. You're familiar with the ports, and have relationships with the traders. He does not want the change to upset trade. And he is fond of you."

That hurt almost more than everything before it.

"Egill," Kars said, low, and Egill's tired eyes stopped avoiding his. "My brother is dead. My father is betrayed. Does Vakre think I have no honor?"

Egill's lips pulled flat, in an expression Kars knew as _anything I say you're going to hear wrong_. It made the painful anger in his lungs pinch inwards. He wasn't a child, needlessly angry.

He felt suddenly, overwhelmingly tired, resting his arm against the wall for support. "Vakre knows—" he said, swallowed and shook his head. He restarted: "I'm weak, young, and ill-tested. All I have is my honor."

"A month to prepare the ships," Egill said. He shifted to the side, breaking eye contact. "You have time to think." He opened his mouth to say something, before closing it again. Instead he tilted his head to the guards with him. "Your escorts."

Kars straightened, and looked back at the two men. He nodded to them, in acknowledgment. "Thank you," he said, quietly, not looking back to Egill.

\--

The smell of sea and tar and wood surrounded him; the mass of other ships, following the dark mage-ship ahead of them, were a sign of the hemorrhaged clans, and the warriors that swore allegiance to his father. Kars did not think his uncle expected so many to go, more than ever planned to emigrate, but the war that would have come if he'd tried to make them stay –

He hadn't tried to make any of them stay. Not even Kars, beyond outlining his points on the third day and telling him to consider them. Kars had.

Kars had been spending much of his time clinging to the edge of the ship for support, and watching the blue-dark waves. He didn't know what lay ahead, in the new land, but there was no way they could turn back – and maybe there, at least, they could find a future.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Becca (ryfkah), Gen (genarti), and HH (hhertzof) for being so awesome and stylish :). Also to curiouslyfic and iBear for the cheerleading. Thanks to Lferion, too, for the prompt! I squeaked a lot when I got it, and had to resist showing it off to people. (I'm fond of Kars, and a PWD.) I know there are lots of possible interpretations of his backstory/culture, so I hope my fic works for you! Please have an amazing Yuletide and have the best amounts of hot cocoa, cider, blankets, and archive-trawling :D!


End file.
